Stranger in My Arms

305 Pages·2016·0.9 MB·English

by  Alers Rochelle

Stranger in My Arms
Rochelle
Alers
Contents
Dear Reader
Part One
Friends
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Part Two
Lovers
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Part Three
Silent Witness
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
Coming Next Month
Dear Reader
You were introduced to ex-CIA field operative Merrick Grayslake in No
Compromise and again when he stepped on stage in Renegade to exchange vows
with Alexandra Cole.
Merrick is back, this time in his own role as an enigmatic hero in Stranger in
My Arms, and to take his final bow in Book #12 in the ongoing Hideaway
legacy.
If you want to know the events that led to Merrick and Alex’s courtship,
then I invite you to join these unforgettable characters in a sensual romance
where their love could put them at the greatest risk of all.
Yours in Romance,
Rochelle Alers
Part One
Friends
Chapter 1
Three knocks on the bedroom door in rapid succession stopped Alexandra Cole
as she prepared to slip her feet into a pair of three-inch, silk-covered, midnight-
blue pumps.
A frown furrowed her forehead as she stood up. This was the second
interruption that had thwarted her getting dressed for her cousin’s wedding.
The first time it was Ana who, in the full throes of PMS, had experienced a
temporary meltdown when she couldn’t zip up the dress she’d chosen to wear
for the New Year’s Eve ceremony. She and Ana were the same height, five-
three, but Alex outweighed her younger sister by a mere five pounds. The crisis
was resolved when she offered Ana one of the two dresses she’d brought with
her.
“Who is it?” she called out.
“Jason.”
Alex rolled her eyes. Now it was her younger brother. “What’s the matter,
little brother? Do you need me to tie your tie?”
“Very funny, Alex,” he drawled sarcastically from the other side of the door.
“I came to tell you that one of your loser ex-boyfriends just showed up
uninvited, and Uncle Martin’s security people won’t let him in. What do you
want to do?”
Crossing the carpeted bedroom on bare feet, she opened the door. Jason Cole
stood before her in a dark blue suit, white shirt and white silk tie. It wasn’t often
that she saw him in a suit, but Alex had to admit that her twenty-four-year-old
brother cut a very handsome figure in tailored attire.
Jason was the quintessential Cole male: over six feet, olive coloring, black
curly hair and a dimpled smile. And in keeping with a family ritual that dated
back to the marriage of their grandparents from which the prospective groom
was exempt, any male who claimed Cole blood affected light-colored neckwear.
“Who is he?”
Jason lifted sweeping black eyebrows. “The message was, ‘Tell her Donald
is here.’”
Her large clear gold-brown eyes narrowed. “Donald,” Alex repeated. She
knew two Donalds. One who’d been her study partner in undergraduate school
and another she’d dated only twice before she handed him his walking papers.
“Did he leave his last name?”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Jason shook his head. “He also said, and I
quote, ‘She’ll know who I am,’ end quote.”
Realization dawned. He had to be Donald Easton. “That arrogant SOB,” she
whispered. “Tell them to let him in and have him wait for me by the refreshment
tent.”
A sardonic smile parted Jason’s lips. “If you want, Gabe and I can give him
a blanket party.”
Her brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“We’ll throw a blanket over his head, then kick his ass. And I’m willing to
bet that if he wasn’t getting married in an hour Michael would also want to get
his licks in.”
Alex stomped a bare foot. “Stop it, Jason! There will be no brawling tonight
or any other night. Donald Easton has a problem with the word no. I’ll take care
of him.”
“Are you sure, Alex?”
Forcing a dimpled smile, she patted her brother’s arm. “Yes, I’m sure. Now
go so I can finish dressing.”
Jason flashed a wolfish grin so reminiscent of their father’s. “Okay. By the
way, you look great.”
“Thanks.”
Alex closed the door and crossed the expansive bedroom she shared with
Ana and two other female cousins whenever they gathered in West Palm Beach.
Slipping her feet into her shoes, she wondered why a man she hadn’t seen in
nearly a year had come from Virginia to see her. Unfortunately she’d told
Donald that she always celebrated Christmas and New Year’s in Florida with her
extended family; it was apparent he wanted to surprise her.
Well, the surprise would be on him because she had no intention of resuming
what had been doomed from the start.

A member of Martin Cole’s private security detail took a glance at the SUV
with West Virginia plates and entered the number into his PDA. Smiling, he
nodded at the man behind the wheel.
“We’ll park your vehicle for you, Mr. Grayslake.” He gestured to a parking
attendant before returning his attention to Merrick Grayslake. “Once you walk
through the gates and make a right someone will escort you to the Japanese
garden.”
Merrick nodded. “Thank you.”
Reaching for the suit jacket resting on the passenger-side seat, he got out of
his vehicle, slipped his arms into the sleeves, then as directed made his way
through a set of iron gates that protected the property that made up the Cole
family West Palm Beach compound.
He hadn’t taken more than half a dozen steps when he spied a small camera
attached to the upper branches of a tree. Security personnel and surveillance
equipment monitored everyone entering or leaving the property.
He’d left Bolivar, West Virginia, at dawn, stopping twice to refuel and
stretch his legs. The drive south had taken longer than expected because of
bumper-to-bumper holiday traffic along I–95. It was New Year’s Eve and
motorists were heading either home or to clubs or restaurants where they’d ring
in the coming year with their families and/or friends.
At thirty-five, Merrick Grayslake had lost count of the number of countries
where he’d welcomed in a new year. Whether in Central or South America, the
Middle East, Southeast Asia, or in his last assignment as a CIA covert field
operative—Afghanistan—for him it had become just another uneventful holiday.
Now, for the first time in more than two years, he wouldn’t be alone or
engaged in an undercover mission when the clock struck midnight. It had taken
the wedding of Michael Kirkland, a man who’d saved his life, for Merrick to
temporarily forsake his reclusive way of life and leave what had become his
sanctuary, a modest two-story home near the Allegheny Mountains.
He’d checked into a local hotel and asked the front desk for an eight-thirty
wake-up call. His head had barely touched the pillow when the ringing telephone
woke him from a deep, dreamless sleep. He’d drunk a pint of water from the wet
bar to offset dehydration before he readied himself to attend a New Year’s Eve
wedding.
When U.S. Army captain Michael Kirkland had come to him to solicit his
help in protecting his social worker fiancée, Merrick experienced a long-
forgotten shiver of excitement that always preceded a new covert mission. But
the feeling was short-lived. He’d helped Michael identify Stanley Willoughby,
the man behind a conspiracy to kill Jolene Walker; he’d remained in the
Washington, D.C., area for several weeks following the arrest and subsequent
indictment of the D.C. power broker before returning to his adopted home state.
Merrick still didn’t understand why he’d decided to put down roots in West
Virginia, but there was something about the topography that suited his
temperament. The panoramic views, the rugged splendor of the mountains, and
the small towns that predated the Revolutionary War and still bore the scars of
the Civil War had remained virtually untouched, architecturally, since the 1950s.
The slate path widened to a lush, manicured meadow where an enormous
gauze-draped white tent protected cloth-covered tables from insects. A smaller
tent, less than fifty feet away, doubled as a portable bar. The weather had
cooperated: clear skies, full moon and nighttime temperatures in the low sixties.
His pace slowed as he joined a small crowd milling around the entrance to a